Paradigm Shift
by C.Isaac
Summary: Ensemble Cast -- My hypothetical Season 2 Premiere. Cromartie and Ellison both seek out the Connors, who recover from the bombing. Now complete! Please review and let me know what you think. Spoilers through all Season 1 episodes. "Episode" 2 soon!
1. Chapter 1

**Title:** Paradigm Shift

**Author:** C. Isaac

**Character/Pairing:** Various ensemble (Ellison, Dixon, Sarah, John, and Cameron included. Derek mentioned.)

**Rating:** T for Teen

**Warnings:** This mentions events all the way through 1x09 "What He Beheld"

**Summary:** This is about the events immediately transpiring from the end of the season finale, and how I think they could possibly continue.

**Disclaimer:** I do not own anything involved with Terminator or the Sarah Connor Chronicles. All rights belong to their respective owners, and I am making no profit from this.

**Author Notes:** Ok, please don't shoot me, but this is my first attempt at fan fiction for anything really. I've written short stories before for other things, but Terminator has just been pounding within my head so much lately, I had to let it out.

"Th-they're all dead."

Ellison ignored the paramedic – Dixon – as he had walked from body to body, checking to see if there was any hope for the fallen agents. Ellison had not bothered, as he had seen how they had died, and knew them to all be gone. He sat on the cool concrete near the bloodied pool, Greta Simpson's head cradled in his lap.

She could have been asleep if not for the small, bloody hole in her left cheek. The warm moistness against Ellison's knee told him it had been a through and through, exiting from the back of her skull. He whispered to her, "I'm sorry, Greta. I should have known – I did know – but I couldn't believe."

"Didn't you hear me, Ellison?" asked Dixon, yelling over the sound of rapidly approaching sirens.

"I heard you, Mr. Dixon," remarked Ellison with at much composure as he could muster, "but I already knew they were."

Dixon pulled off the rubber gloves he had donned before checking the agents, revealing only then that his hands were shaking rapidly, "It was Kester, wasn't it?"

"Yes." The response was terse, as Ellison was looking down at Greta's face once more. Sorrow filled his features, eyes haunted and watery.

"H-how could… he… how…" Dixon was searching for words that did not seem to want to come, trying to form a question for which he already knew the answer. Dixon knew that Kester had been 'off' when they met. Like the thing that lived with the Connors.

"I have seen the Harbinger of the Apocalypse, Mr. Dixon," stated Ellison with a slow, steady cadence. "It walks amongst us cloaked in flesh, but with bones of steel forged by hate and evil."

Dixon watched as Ellison lowered Greta's head to the concrete and then stood up, "Mr. Dixon, I thought I knew evil. I have seen the worst in men, and I have long used the Book to strengthen me against temptation. What I saw today was a level of uncaring malice that…" he paused, searching, "…defies belief."

Dixon rubbed the back of his neck with one hand, "Agent, I'm…" and the rest of his statement was drowned out by the sound of numerous LAPD officers swarming into the scene, guns drawn.

Ellison leaned in close to Dixon, whispering fiercely, "I want the truth from you next time, Mr. Dixon. All of it," before turning and holding his badge high above his head for the incoming police officers.

* * *

The explosion caused the house to rattle as if a small earthquake had struck the neighborhood. The sound of fire and car alarms could be heard even in John's room, where he had been with Sarah, talking about going out to eat for his birthday.

Sarah hurried to the window, one hand pressed to the sill and the other shielding her eyes from the sun as she peered out into the street. "John, get the fire extinguisher. Quickly."

"Mom, what's going on?" asked John, confusion evident in his voice, "Was that an explosion?"

"Yes," came the reply as Sarah started out of John's room and headed for her own. She called back over her shoulder, "Hurry, John!"

John jumped up from his desk and headed into the laundry utility room, grabbing the fire extinguisher that had been stored next to the washing machine. He pulled safety rings and tabs off it as he hurdled furniture, and then raced out to the front lawn. He skidded to a halt just outside the door, still on the porch, as he beheld what had caused the explosion.

The Jeep Wrangler was engulfed in flames, dark smoke and the stench of burning rubber pouring off it in thick waves. There were flaming pieces of debris embedded into nearby cars, the pavement, and laying all about the lawn. Movement within the smoky interior of Jeep prompted his feet into moving once more and he dodged burning piles of steel and rubber as he closed with the Jeep.

Sarah came out of the front door just after John, a pistol from her room held behind her back in her right hand. She scanned the street, looking to see if this was the prelude for a full out attack, only to see neighbors staring in shock at the scene. Several, she could see, held cell phones to their ears, presumably calling emergency services.

Her eyes were drawn back to the Jeep, watching a humanoid body wreathed in flames emerge from the wreckage. She felt her heart drop down into her stomach, as her mind shifted to images of another Terminator pulling itself from the wreckage of a flaming truck.

…_they don't feel pity, or remorse, or fear, _Kyle had said.

John screamed Cameron's name, then began spraying the cyborg with the fire extinguisher. Sarah could already see the gleam of chrome and metal from where she stood, revealed by the force of the explosion and the fire burning Cameron down to her endoskeleton. John continued to spray Cameron with the fire extinguisher, body language showing that he was near panicking.

Meanwhile, Sarah remained stock still on the walkway up the lawn. It took everything she could muster not to pull the gun from behind her back and start emptying the clip into Cameron. _No, the thing, not 'Cameron', _she corrected herself mentally.

The flames surrounding Cameron were out and she rose to her feet. The same gait was there, but what Sarah recognized from before was no longer the same. The left hand and forearm were bare of flesh, showing the metal endoskeleton, as was the lower left half of the face. There were numerous rents along her torso and legs that showed half cooked flesh and bare metal. Cameron's hair had been burned down close to her scalp, and the flesh that remained was singed red or blackened almost everywhere.

The sheer wrongness of what Cameron was struck Sarah then, harder than it had before, now that she could see the dichotomy so clearly. Half of a leering smile peeked out from underneath the flesh mask of Cameron's face, while the rest was a reddened, emotionless mask. The terminator had easily survived what would have slain a human.

… _and they absolutely will not stop until you are dead! _Kyle had said.

The gun came out, pointing at Cameron, and Sarah's whole arm shook with the desire to fire the weapon. For that single moment, she wanted nothing more than for Cameron to have been destroyed utterly in the explosion. She could feel tears welling in her eyes from the frustration, gritting her teeth as she tried to will them away.

_I know why you cry, _the badly damaged terminator John called 'Uncle Bob' had said, as it wiped away John's tears.

"Mom?"

John's voice brought her back to the present, the worry and uncertainty was plainly heard. She blinked to clear her vision as she quickly slid her pistol into the back of her belt, "Yes, sorry… I wasn't sure if I saw something," she lied.

The terminator approached, "We need to leave. Emergency services will arrive soon, and we should not be here." The feminine voice was incongruous coming from the ruined lower portion of its face. It had pulled what was left of its coat over its head and had the fleshless hand cradled close to its chest, where it could not be seen.

"Yes. You're right," Sarah admitted, "John, get the money and as many clothes as you can grab, and get in the Mercedes." She turned to Cameron, "You… grab some heavy, concealing clothes. Hurry, both of you."

She heard John swear under his breath, but he could not argue this time. This had been too high profile. This would get them on the radar. Sarah could hear the sirens in the distance already, and she had no idea how many of the neighbors had seen chrome underneath Cameron's skin.

She ran back to her room, stuffing a bag full of clothes, her identification papers, and then pulling the trunk of weaponry out from under her bed. Sarah hefted her bags, then quickly made her way to the car. The sound of approaching sirens were like a clock ticking in the back of her head. They were very close.

John was throwing bags into the trunk. He took the large suitcase full of weaponry from his mother, then stuffed it in, kicking it once to make sure it was all the way into the back. "Do you know where Derek is?" Sarah asked as she added her own bag of clothing to the gear in the trunk.

"Yeah, I can show you how to get there so we can pick him up," said John as he slammed the trunk down. "Where's Cameron?"

The both of them looked around, then finally John responded to his own question, "I thought she was right beh…"

The sound of the side door to the garage opening cut John off. Cameron stepped in, then remarked, "We can go now," as she closed the door behind her. She was covered in an oversized trench coat that belonged to Derek, with freshly donned pants, boots, and gloves covering most of her. There was a black bandanna wrapped around her neck and it had been pulled up over her lower face, up to the bridge of her nose. She had a hooded sweatshirt on under the trench, and the hood was pulled up and over her now much shorter hair.

Sarah smirked, "I'm glad that we have your approval to leave now, Tin Miss."

Cameron cocked her head, retaining her mannerisms even in her new state, "Why were you awaiting my approval to leave?"

John snorted, then stated simply, "Sarcasm, Cam."

"Oh. Thank you for explaining," came the familiar response.

By the time the car was moving, Sarah could see flashes of red and blue in the rear view mirror. She sped briefly, knowing that nearby police would be responding to the explosion and not writing tickets. She adjusted the mirror to look into the backseat, where Cameron was sitting, and noticed that she was holding a clear CD case in one hand. There was a CD inside and the label was facing the front.

She could make out the word 'Chopin' on it.

_How odd,_ was all she could think before having to put her eyes back on the road.

* * *

Sleep would not come for James Ellison. He had dozed fitfully on and off through the night, tossing and turning in his bed. Each time sleep threatened to fully engulf him, he could only see Kester. As sleep deepened, he would see what had happened that day once more, then start awake, reaching for the sidearm that was no longer there.

It had taken ten minutes for the field supervisor to ask for Ellison's badge and gun after getting to the scene. It was possibly the worst massacre of federal law enforcement personnel since Waco, and the worst day in law enforcement since 9/11. There were fourteen dead FBI agents, good men and women each, and all of them weighed heavily on Ellison.

He sat up in bed, sheets a haphazard pile around him. One hand absently rubbed over his bare scalp as he reached for his alarm clock and held it up, looking at the bright green display.

_3:32 AM_

_The first of many such nights, James,_ he thought to himself, and then turned to put his feet on the carpeted floor. Deciding that tonight's sleep was done for the moment, he opened his top dresser drawer, selecting a dull grey t-shirt with the FBI logo and similarly colored sweatpants. He pulled them both on over the boxers he'd been wearing.

_Maybe I can get the Connor files together. So I don't have to chase them down when they come to pick them up tomo--, _his thoughts paused, then continued as he corrected himself, _-- today. _

Ellison padded over to his bedroom door, and then gripped the doorknob. As he prepared to open it, he stopped, tilting his head closer to the space between the frame and the door itself. He could make out the sound of movement and papers rustling. A louder sound suddenly came, that of plastic clacking together. Ellison identified it as video tapes clattering against each other.

He looked to where light from the clear night sky illuminated his empty gun holster that hung near his bed, useless to him now. He released the doorknob and stepped over to his closet. He opened the closet door as quietly as possible, and then reached for the baseball bat that was propped against the wall.

With the baseball bat gripped in one hand, Ellison picked up the phone on his nightstand. He dialed a number, waited for the operator answer, then whispered, "This is FBI Special Agent James Ellison. I have an intruder in my home." He gave the address, then tossed the phone on the bed, leaving the line open.

He stepped back to the door, body tense, and the baseball bat held up at head level. He turned the knob slowly, in an attempt to prevent any sound from being made, and then opened the door. He swore he could hear it creaking the entire time it swung, regardless of how silent and quick the process was.

Ellison stepped from his room and out into the living area of the home. A figure was kneeling in front of the television, sorting through papers, selecting some, and then putting them into a white box full of video cassettes. The figure was large, masculine, and appeared to be clothed in deep black.

"Hey!" shouted Ellison as he reached for a light switch.

The figure did not jump or start, as most people would at being discovered, but simply looked up at Ellison. The lights from the ceiling fan illuminated a familiar figure, and Ellison could feel terror welling up inside of him. The urge to flee screamed in the back of his brain, and he fought hard to keep control of panicked terror.

The machine that had been masquerading as Robert Kester was kneeling on Ellison's floor, collecting the case files of Sarah Connor. The white box had 'EVIDENCE' written across it in huge block letters, and was full of the Pescadero hospital video tapes. Numerous file folders and papers had been stuffed in next to them, appearing to be almost everything Ellison had on Connor.

Kester looked almost the same as he had that morning, even down to wearing the same black clothing. He had added gloves, a heavy coat, and a baseball cap though. The damage to the skin on of his face was concealed by heavy bandages that covered the places where chrome and metal had been revealed earlier.

"FBI Agent James Ellison," intoned Kester, almost by way of greeting. Kester stood, hoisting the box of evidence as he did. "Is this all the evidence you have gathered on the Sarah Connor case?" The voice was emotionless, detached, and utterly cold.

Ellison was dumbfounded, bat lowering as he stared at Kester. The fact that this thing was in his home baffled him almost as much as the fact that it was now talking to him. He shivered, suddenly chilled to the bone.

Kester stared at him blankly, patiently waiting for a response to the question posed. After what seemed to be an eternity, Kester started to advance towards Ellison, intoning, "Agent Ellison, I require an answer to my inquiry. Do you have further information concerning Sarah Connor or her current whereabouts?"

Ellison backpedaled, revulsion sending him into motion. "N-no!" He repeated himself when Kester did not stop moving, "No! You got it all. I left it all out here on the desk and in that box." He held the bat out in front of him, "Stay away from me."

That's when Kester smiled. It was a calculating thing, devoid of anything approaching emotion. Everything in Ellison's psyche screamed out against what he saw, though the only description that came to mind to describe it was simply the word 'wrong'.

"Thank you for your cooperation," Kester mouthed in monotone. Its movements were casual and methodical as it pulled a pistol from its coat with one hand, the evidence box under the other. Ellison turned on his heel and fled back towards his room, head ducked low as he heard the sound of the first gunshot. It echoed through the house, as did the sound of plaster exploding from the wall.

Ellison was back through his door at a dead sprint, holes exploding behind him in the wall. He leapt for the window, a desperation move, and braced as he impacted against wood and glass. Thankfully, it shattered outward and spilled him into his backyard. He staggered as he rolled back up to his feet, looking down to find a long gash along his left thigh where the glass had not completely shattered.

He could see Kester at the window, and the slide of the gun hammered backwards again, the night filling with gunshots as Ellison raced towards his neighbor's fence. He vaulted it, catching his foot on the top edge and spilling onto the ground. The wood just above his head exploded as another bullet nearly found him. Ellison yelped in pain as splinters drove themselves into his face and shoulder.

He gasped for breath, while terror crept into his limbs and made it impossible to move. His entire body was sore, while the pain in his leg and his face was bordering on excruciating. He heard the sound of booted feet landing on broken glass, then crunching as Kester moved to pursue.

Ellison could then make out the sound of a magazine being released. _It's reloading, _Ellison thought to himself, _So move your ass, James! _Ellison pushed his way to his feet, sprinting through his neighbor's chrysanthemums. He jumped another fence, then another, losing himself quickly amongst the maze of Los Angeles suburbia.

Ellison did not know how long he had been running, or when the pursuit had stopped, but it must have because Kester was nowhere to be seen, and he was easily several blocks away from his home now. He found himself against the back of a shed in someone's backyard. His leg was burning with agony, and he did not think he could continue. He let himself slip to the ground, his entire body shaking as the adrenaline began to wear off.

Sirens were echoing in the background, in the direction of his home. Ellison did not move from where he sat, but pulled a strip of fabric from his shirt and began to bandage his leg. As he sat, working on staunching the blood flow, the words of Sarah Connor, seen on one of her tapes, came back to him. _They are made to do one perfect thing, _she had said, _to kill you. They will not stop until you are dead._


	2. Chapter 2

Title: Paradigm Shift, Chapter 2

**Title:** Paradigm Shift, Chapter 2

**Author:** C. Isaac

**Character/Pairing:** Various ensemble (Ellison, Dixon, Derek, Sarah, John, and Cameron all included.)

**Rating:** T for Teen

**Warnings:** This mentions events all the way through 1x09 "What He Beheld"

**Summary:** This is about the events immediately transpiring from the end of the season finale, and how I think they could possibly continue.

**Disclaimer:** I do not own anything involved with Terminator or the Sarah Connor Chronicles. All rights belong to their respective owners, and I am making no profit from this.

**Author Notes:** This is the second part. The first section of it, with the Connors, I did not feel as strongly as the second section. I think I have Ellison's voice in my head more clearly than the others. Any feedback on it is appreciated.

**Paradigm Shift, Chapter 2**

John rolled over, and then groaned in annoyance as the sunlight filtering through the blinds streamed into his face. He held up one hand towards the window as he began to wake up in a vain attempt to keep the light away from his face. Finally giving up on there being any chance of further sleep, John sat up in bed and pushed the covers aside. He looked around the cheap hotel room that they had rented with aliases the night before.

He took stock of the room, seeing that Derek was already outside somewhere and that Cameron was still staring eerily out of the blinds of the large pane window that was above the room's AC unit near the door. The terminator had chosen to keep heavily covered, wearing the same hooded sweatshirt from yesterday, the hood now hanging down, and a brown shoulder length wig neatly arranged on her head. She still had the bandanna up over her face, and the skin that could be seen above it had an oily sheen from the burn salves and ointments she had applied. Both hands were gloved, and she wore an undamaged pair of jeans and boots.

Sarah was sitting on the other bed in the room, remote in her hand as she scanned the local newscasts, "Derek is on a food run. Go get cleaned up."

John was still dressed in the clothes he wore from yesterday, and could still smell smoke and residue from the fire extinguisher on himself. "Yeah, I can definitely feel the shower calling my name," said John. He shoved the remaining sheets and bedcovers off and then levered himself up off the bed. He muttered, "I don't think I can ever eat bacon again after that smell."

He heard his mother snort in wry amusement as he grabbed his bag of clothing and then padded into the bathroom. He shut the door and then started the water so it would have time to warm up. He pawed through the bag while he waited. "Great," he groused to himself, "I only managed one spare set of socks. That's going to suck." He also checked to make sure his laptop was still buried safely underneath the clothes.

He looked over the bathroom counter after selecting a set of clothing for the day and setting them on top of his bag. There were numerous ointments, burn creams, and bundles of gauze and bandages. They had stopped at a pharmacy and just grabbed everything that they could think of. He remembered Derek complaining about the waste of money.

He picked up one of the salves and turned it over in his hand. His mom and Cameron had spent the better part of the evening in here using the various supplies, which was why he had to wait until the morning for the badly needed shower. In amongst the medical supplies was a bottle of cheap perfume. John picked it up, examining it. It had been opened and used, and was of a brand he did not recognize. _I hope this stuff works,_ he thought to himself as he set it back down.

He peeled his clothes off then stepped into the shower. He was not sure how long he stayed under the waters, as he let his brain drift, trying to forget the events of the past few days in the search for Sarkissian and the explosion that had forced them into seclusion. John finished cleaning himself, exited the shower, and then donned his fresh set of clothes. He at least felt human again, without the cloying feeling of smoke and grime on him anymore. "Bathroom's free," he said as he left the room.

Sarah had the television on now, and the news was playing. Both Cameron and Sarah were watching the screen intently, and John turned to see what interested them so much. John expected to see reports of the explosion, but instead the TV was focused on a different story.

"_The investigation continues,"_ droned an reporter from in front of an apartment complex, _"in the brutal murders of fourteen FBI agents in the course of serving an arrest and search warrant in North Hollywood yesterday in the early afternoon hours. Witnesses say an entire elite FBI assault squad was gunned down by a single suspect who fled the scene. FBI spokesperson Gordon Stewart refused to state whether there were any survivors. Names of the deceased are being withheld pending notification of next of kin. The FBI has released a picture of the suspect, who is still at large."_

The news program switched from the crime scene to a picture of a white male with brown hair wearing a brown suit and tie.

"_If you see this individual, please call 911 immediately. Do not approach them or attempt to apprehend them. They are considered extremely dangerous…" _click

Sarah turned off the television, expression pensive. John shook his head, "Man, that sucks. I hope they catch him."

"We are fortunate that this FBI raid occurred," said Cameron, not offering further elaboration.

"Fortunate?" came the incredulous reply from Sarah, who was looking at Cameron as if the terminator had grown a third arm, "Fourteen people died and you're calling it fortunate?"

John himself was still boggling at the statement when Cameron said, "Yes, it keeps law enforcement distracted on something they will consider higher priority, and makes it unlikely there will be any information in the media concerning the explosion at the house."

Sarah shook her head, a deep scowl on her face, "I shouldn't expect any less from you, should I? You're just a soulless thing with no empathy." Sara pushed herself from the edge of the bed, where she'd been sitting, and said, "I'm taking a bath, a long one. I want some privacy." She grabbed her bag, and then vanished into the bathroom, the door slamming loudly behind her. John could hear the lock turn.

John stepped towards Cameron, his voice a low hiss, "Why do you constantly have to say things like that?"

Cameron's head tilted slightly, like a bird considering a worm, and she replied, "I was giving an assessment of our current situation, which was…"

John cut her off with a wave of his hand. He felt exasperated and annoyed at himself for being so upset by Cameron being potentially injured – damaged – in the blast, "I know what your assessment is. God help us, we always know what your assessment is. You just can't say things like that about people, it's creepy. You almost make it sound like you're happy they died."

Cameron's eyes widened slightly, the only part of her face capable of holding an expression at the moment, and she said, "I am not happy that they died."

John regarded Cameron, trying to figure out if she sounded hurt or not. He decided on 'not', then told her, "Then don't talk about how their deaths are fortunate. People don't like things like that. It makes us uncomfortable. Even if we think like that – which most people don't – we're not going to say it. It just makes you seem…" He paused, then finally settled on the first word that had come to mind, "… inhuman. Ok?"

Cameron nodded once, "Ok. Thank you for explaining."

John raised a brow. It was hard enough to try to figure Cameron out when he could see her entire face, but it was worse now. Did she sound appreciative? He almost thought she did, then said, "Yeah, sure. It all relates to how life is important. Remember that."

Cameron nodded dutifully, full monotone returning as she said, "I saw the man from the internet café right before the vehicle exploded. He was walking away from the Jeep and turned back to watch as I turned the ignition."

John swore under his breath, "You've told mom, right?"

"Yes. Last night."

"We'll be spending today figuring out what to do next, I suppose." John ran a hand through his hair, then continued, "At least we only have Sarkissian to worry about right now."

"The man on the television is Cromartie."

John felt his throat go dry, "The one who killed the FBI agents?"

"Yes. I recognized the photograph."

The sounds of Derek entering the hotel room ended their conversation. He carried bags of fast food in each hand dumped the contents unceremoniously on the room's table and said, "Get 'em while they're hot."

John wandered over and pushed around the wrapped sandwiches and burritos until he decided on one that suited him, and then selected an orange juice carton to go with it. He dropped into the chair next to where Derek had decided to sit, and started to unwrap his food when he saw a slim, gloved hand reach out and select an egg burrito from the table.

Cameron was tugging her bandanna down, revealing the damaged skin and endoskeleton of her lower jaw. Cameron unwrapped the burrito, but before she could try to take a bite out of it Derek said, "Please, if you're going to eat that, turn away." He was holding up one hand in front of him, as if to shield eyes from the sight of the terminator eating.

John watched Cameron's brows furrow, then she turned her back to Derek and John.

* * *

James Ellison knocked again on Charley Dixon's front door, having waited nearly a full minute after the first time. He knew that Dixon was home, as his car was out front, and he had called in to Dixon's supervisor to find out that his next shift was not until tomorrow. Even without his badge, he still knew out to find out information.

The door's lock turned, followed by the door swinging open. Dixon greeted him, "Agent Ellison…" He paused, sizing Ellison up before opening the door fully to admit him, "You look like hell. Come in. Do you want some coffee?"

Heavy bags hung under Ellison's eyes, which were also bloodshot red. Instead of his usual neatly pressed suit, he wore a t-shirt with a blue FBI windbreaker over it, a pair of blue jeans, and sneakers.

Ellison took a limping step through the door, "Yes, Mr. Dixon, I would love a cup of coffee." The wound from jumping through his own window had cut directly across the stab wound that Silberman had inflicted not too long ago, and had left his leg stiff and throbbing. Vicodin from the ER was keeping the edge off at the moment.

Dixon shut the door behind him, and then turned towards the kitchen. "Have a seat, Agent Ellison." He frowned as he watched Ellison's slow, limping gait carry the agent to the nearest chair. Ellison's leg nearly gave out from under him he practically fell backwards onto the chair.

Dixon asked, "Are you alright, Agent? Is there something I can do?"

Ellison offered a weak smile, "No, Mr. Dixon, thought I appreciate the offer. I have already had a doctor attend to me. I wanted to speak with you as soon as possible, so I frustrated the man by not heeding his order to get some rest." He used both hands to reposition his left leg into a more comfortable spot, and leaned back into the chair.

Silence ruled between the two men as Dixon arranged two cups of coffee. Ellison could feel the effects of the last 24 hours as he settled back into the comfortable chair, eyes drifting shut to the sounds of coffee percolating.

_The thing that had called itself Kester moved through a shattered landscape strewn with corpses. Ellison could recognize every face he saw laying in twisted and broken poses. He saw his mother, his father, family and coworkers. Kester strode towards him, expression blank, "Thank you for your cooperation, Agent Ellison. We could not have done it without you."_

_Ellison looked down, and at his feet were the broken bodies of Sarah and John Connor. Ellison looked back up at the thing known as Kester, and in its place was a skeletal monstrosity made of metal struts and pistons._

"Agent!"

Ellison jerked awake, regretting it instantly as pain shot through his leg. His breathing had quickened, and he could feel the sweat trickling from his brow. Ellison wiped at his forehead, then looked up at the standing Dixon, "You will excuse me, I hope. I… uh… did not sleep well last night."

"It doesn't sound like you slept well then, either. You were muttering to yourself," Dixon said as he offered a mug of steaming coffee to Ellison. "Couldn't make it out though."

"Apologies, Mr. Dixon," Ellison said as he rubbed at his eyes, "I don't normally do things like that."

Dixon smiled nervously, then said, "I can't imagine what you went through yesterday. That you're already back on the job amazes me."

Ellison smiled wryly, watching as Dixon sat down across from him, both men cradling their mugs of coffee in two hands. Ellison's expression turned serious as he said, "Mr. Dixon, I do not think it takes a great deal of thought to figure out why I am here today. I could make threats about having teams of FBI agents swarming over your home, destroying your domestic tranquility. I could threaten you myself, acting as a desperate man with nothing left to lose."

Ellison would have liked to lean forward for the next part, but thought better of it due to the pain in his leg. Instead, he sipped at the coffee, remarking, "This is good," then continued, "but instead I'm going to assume you and I both know what we saw yesterday. We both know what Kester is. This same thing that was, if I might remind you, in your home not too long ago, and a far greater threat than I could ever be."

He could see Dixon swallow hard with the mention of Kester being in his home. Ellison had made sure to sit where Dixon would be able to see a picture of his wife. Luckily, for Ellison, it had also been a chair close to the door. "Instead, I am going to ask you, as simply as I can, for the truth. I need to know these things I am going to ask you, Mr. Dixon. I need to know them now, so that fourteen brave men and women did not die in vain yesterday."

"Charley Dixon, where is Sarah Connor?"

Dixon looked down at the steaming drink in his hands, a slight tremor to his limbs. "I thought she was dead. Gone. I thought –" He wiped at his mouth and chin nervously, then looked Ellison in the eyes, and told the FBI agent everything he knew.

* * *

Ellison leaned against the support pillar of the front porch of the Baum's – no, Connor's – home in Los Angeles. He had come straight to the address Dixon had given him, but even then he was already too late. There was a blast mark and scorched grass in front of the home. Police tape still surrounded the area, but the authorities were long gone.

The car had exploded, the neighbors had told him. The family had left in a hurry yesterday sometime in the afternoon. He had been able to get positive IDs on photos of Sarah and John, then the two that Dixon had named Cameron and Derek.

He had jimmied the lock and gone through the house. It showed that they had evacuated quickly. Dresser drawers were open, there was laundry still in the washing machine, and an alarm clock was still going off from when it had started chiming in the morning. He had seen the coat that Sarah had been wearing at Arrowhead in the closet of the master bedroom, ballet slippers in one side bedroom, and a schoolbook with the name 'John' written on the paper book cover. Ellison had found a color printout of a passport, the picture and name of one Margos Sarkissian, buried in the wastebasket inside what he believed to be John Connor's room. It appeared to be his only lead.

_The future is not set. There is no fate but what we make, _Dixon had said it was Sarah's motto.

"Time to make a new fate," murmured Ellison to no one in particular as he stood straight, and started walking back towards his car.

**AUTHOR'S NOTE:**

This is a newly edited version of chapter 2. I was unhappy with parts of it and took time to go through the first section and tighten up some of the pacing and dialogue. I also added a couple extra lines to the dialogue between Ellison and Dixon, then added in the lead that will lead Ellison to the next chapters of the story. Thank you to those who have given me such nice compliments in the reviews section and on my LJ page.


	3. Chapter 3

**Title:** Paradigm Shift, Chapter 3

**Author:** C. Isaac

**Character/Pairing:** Various ensemble (Ellison, Dixon , Derek, Sarah, John, and Cameron all included.)

**Rating:** T for Teen

**Warnings:** This mentions events all the way through 1x09 "What He Beheld"

**Summary:** This is about the events immediately transpiring from the end of the season finale, and how I think they could possibly continue.

**Disclaimer:** I do not own anything involved with Terminator or the Sarah Connor Chronicles. All rights belong to their respective owners, and I am making no profit from this.

**Author Notes: **Thank you to those that have reviewed this story for me and thank you to those that have given me such wonderful compliments. As a reminder, I made some major changes to Chapter 2 a couple of days ago and it may be different from the last time you read it.

This is the final edit and form of this chapter. I was really, really having some problems with the Sarah/Derek conversation and I've stripped it out and rewritten it several times now. I'm finally happy with it, and feel this is the way it should be. Any further review from this point will be very welcome.

**Paradigm Shift, Chapter 3**

"Still no luck?" Derek said as he closed the car door behind him. He held the tray with cups of coffee and fresh donuts up between himself and Sarah. "You pick the one you want."

Sarah pushed her sunglasses up and rubbed at the bridge of her nose. She took a second to make sure the blonde wig she was wearing was straight before taking a cup and a donut, "No. Three days and no confirmation that Sarkissian lives here."

Derek set the cardboard tray down on the dashboard of the car. He jerked his chin in the direction of the house they were staking out, then said, "It's a really nice place for a guy who owns an internet café."

Sarah raised a brow as she sipped at the coffee, then said, "You think John found the wrong address for this guy?"

Derek shook his head, speaking around a mouthful of donut, "No, I keep seeing muscle walking around keeping an eye on things. There's something up here."

Sarah's expression turned pensive as she stared at the house. It was situated in a nice neighborhood in Van Nuys, had a low brick wall around it, and they had identified at least two video cameras looking out over the front lawn. Delivery men visited each day carrying take out and pizza, though no one had left in the same time frame.

"Laying low, which is probably a smart idea after blowing up a car in front of someone's house," said Sarah.

Derek smirked. "If only we could have switched which machine he blew up." On seeing Sarah's expression, he gave an exaggerated shrug, "What? I liked that Jeep."

"Well, we're going to need her for tonight," She tapped her fingers along the top of the steering wheel, expression and mood sobering as worked out how to phrase something to Derek.

"What's on your mind?"

Sarah took a deep breath, "Derek, I think you should sit out tonight. After what happened with the girl – well, I think she might be in there again and I don't want…"

"Want what? You think I've lost it? That I'd actually hurt a kid?" A dangerous edge crept into Derek's voice.

Sarah refused to look away from Derek, "I've seen messed up veterans before. We're doing this so people don't have to die, and from what I see you would do anything…"

"…to protect my family, yes." He kept his eyes on Sarah's.

"What did you mean by 'protect my family'?"

His voice held a razor's edge, "You know what I mean. You should have told me."

"I didn't know you. How could I trust you with that?"

"My brother died saving your ass and you hid it from me. I still have family, and you kept that hidden."

Sarah's voice rose in volume. "And after you gunned down Andy Goode, I'm supposed to greet you like long lost family?"

"He had – no, deserved – to die. The fact we're still chasing his creation around proves it."

"What makes you judge, jury, and executioner? SkyNet thought it had the right to choose that same thing."

"Because he built it. I knew him in the future, and he told me when he thought he was going to die."

Sarah covered her mouth as cold realization began to set in. "Built what?"

"SkyNet. He built it," Derek made a gun with his forefinger and then fired it by bringing down the thumb, "and putting two in his head goes a long way towards putting right what he put wrong. You can preach all you want, but sometimes you have to get your hands dirty. John always understood that."

Sarah looked away. "Future John?"

"Yes."

Sarah closed her eyes and tilted her head back against the headrest of her seat. "How'd you know, anyways?"

"Did you think I wouldn't know my own blood when I saw it?" Derek chuckled. "A lot of things fell into place once I figured it out. Kyle always did love you. All he had was that picture and some stories that Connor, in the future, told him about you. I could tell though."

"He said he came across time for me," whispered Sarah, trying hard to keep tears from showing as her memories went back to those two days with Kyle Reese. "He saved me and he gave me…"

"…John," said Derek, "I know. It's like looking at Kyle with different eyes. Always so cocksure of himself, getting himself into trouble, but always able to pull off the craziest stunts. I want to throttle him sometimes. But… he's family. He's blood. That's all you've got where I come from."

Sarah turned to watch Derek as he spoke, unable to tell if he was talking about Kyle or John. Or both. She searched for something to say, but decided that silence was best for the moment.

Derek turned to look back at Sarah, "After all this is over, I'd like to go see Kyle. Where he is now."

Sarah nodded, "Of course."

* * *

"You're looking better," said John after Cameron emerged from the hotel room's bathroom. He sat at the small table that came with the hotel room, tapping the edge of a clear CD case on the top of the table. Cameron's face has almost fully healed, leaving only a mass of scar tissue along her jaw line that was quickly fading back to unmarked flesh. Both hands were still gloved, and John knew that she was still missing flesh from the center of her left forearm down to her fingertips. Her hair was still about the length of a crew cut, but the wig was gone.

Cameron paused just outside of the bathroom, one hand resting on the doorframe in an oddly human gesture, then said, "Thank you. It means I can go outside without a disguise now."

John set the CD case down, "Yeah, good thing. Mom called and said she'll need you down at Sarkissian's tonight. Try not to scratch the paint up again." The last part was delivered with a teasing tone in his voice.

Cameron sat down across the table from John then reached out and started sliding the CD case towards her. Halfway across, John covered her hand and the CD case, "So, what's with the CD?"

"It is a music CD by the Polish composer Frederic Chopin." Cameron said as she pulled her hand and the CD case free from John, "It contains various…"

John rolled his eyes, "I know what's on the CD. I burned it for you."

"Then why did you ask about the CD?"

"Curiosity. I wanted to know why you brought it along," said John.

"Practice makes perfect."

John looked confused, "What?"

"I have to practice every day."

"Wait. What are you practicing?"

"The language of the soul," said Cameron.

John dropped his head into both hands, groaning, "Ok, now I'm even more confused. What is it, specifically, that you're doing?"

"I'm practicing ballet, using Chopin as the musical accompaniment."

"When are you finding time to do this?"

"I don't sleep," said Cameron.

"At this point, I'm not even going to ask why you're still practicing ballet dancing. It's not as if you need to." John pushed himself up from the chair, then moved to retrieve his laptop and Sarkissian's hard drive. _Bury yourself in your work, John, _he thought.

He tried to keep his mind on his work, but John kept finding himself looking up and finding Cameron staring at him. Her head was cocked slightly to the side, which John knew meant she was thinking about something. The fact that he could never guess what she was thinking about worried John.

* * *

Ellison tried logging into VICAP for what he thought to be the thirtieth time that day. As before, it rejected the ID and password with an error reading _Access Temporarily Suspended, Please Contact Your Field Supervisor._ "And so the trials continue for Job," he said to no one in particular.

He reached out and pulled shut the lid of the laptop computer, then leaned back in his chair and stretched. His jaw made a cracking noise as he yawned in accompaniment to the stretch. _Still not sleeping well, _Ellison thought to himself, _I feel like I'm exhausted by the middle of the afternoon._

After pulling himself out of his chair, Ellison headed towards the small coffee maker that came with the hotel room he was staying in. He started the two cup sized pot to percolating, then turned and walked back to the desk that his laptop was on. Papers and notes lay strewn about it, and he started picking through them.

"Start with what you know, James," Ellison said to himself, "The Connors are interested in Sarkissian. Two of your CIs confirm that he's involved with the mob somehow. The real question is why the Connors are interested in him."

Ellison looked over at the phone and thought, _B__e sure this is the right lead. You can only ask for this once._ He then leaned forward and grabbed the phone. He dialed a familiar number.

An operator answered, politely asking for an extension. Ellison gave it when asked, and then frowned when the voicemail for Agent Karen Shaw informed him that she would be out of the office for the day. Ellison hung up without leaving a message, then tried her cell phone.

"Hello?" greeted Karen as she answered after the first ring.

"Karen, it's James. How're you doing?" Ellison said as he settled back down into the chair next to the desk. He pulled out a pen and his notepad.

"Fine. I've been a bit under the weather. I'm feeling better though. Are you ok? How are you holding up? We miss you here at the office," said Karen.

"As well as can be expected. It's a trial, but I'm getting through. Karen, this isn't a social call, though. I need to ask you a favor. A big one." He drummed his pen on the notepad as he spoke.

"What sort of favor?"

Ellison sighed audibly, "I need you to log into VICAP and the FBI database and pull up all the information you can find on someone for me."

"You're suspended, James," said Karen, "and you know what happens if I give you what you're asking for…"

"You get suspended, too. I know. That's why it's a big favor. I'll owe you for this, Karen. I promise."

"You'll owe me double. Ok, who do you need this information on?"

Ellison reached for the printout of Sarkissian's passport and then read the name to her, "Can you do it now?"

"Yes."

Ellison put the printout down, and then started writing down everything that Karen gave him on Sarkissian. Known associates, current address, previous indictments, and even distinguishing characteristics were written down in neatly arranged columns of information on Ellison's notepad.

"Thank you, Karen. I can't begin to thank you enough," Ellison said.

"You're welcome, James. I hope to see you soon," Karen said before hanging up.

* * *

"Thank you, Karen. I can't begin to thank you enough," came from the cell phone.

"You're welcome, James. I hope to see you soon," the broad shouldered figure said before clicking the phone shut and tossing it away. The figure looked back at Karen Shaw's laptop, committing the data from the VICAP and FBI databases to memory before standing from the desk in Karen's apartment.

The machine known as Cromartie stepped over the crumpled, broken form that used to be Karen Shaw, and then walked out of the apartment.


	4. Chapter 4

**Title:** Paradigm Shift, Chapter 4

**Author:** C. Isaac

**Character/Pairing:** Various ensemble (Ellison, Derek, Sarah, John, and Cameron all included.)

**Rating:** T for Teen

**Warnings:** This mentions events all the way through 1x09 "What He Beheld"

**Summary:** This is about the events immediately transpiring from the end of the season finale, and how I think they could possibly continue.

**Disclaimer:** I do not own anything involved with Terminator or the Sarah Connor Chronicles. All rights belong to their respective owners, and I am making no profit from this.

**Author Notes: **Sorry this took longer than normal to get up. It took a lot of thought and scripting out what I wanted to happen and when before putting this down in writing. Hope the payoff for everyone is worth it. Thank you for reading, and please post any feedback into reviews.

**Paradigm Shift, Chapter 4**

Two men in suits stood on the porch of the Van Nuys home. They were positioned underneath a floodlight that had a camera mounted just underneath it. One of the men was in the process of lighting a cigarette as a young woman approached them.

"Who are you?" The one without the cigarette asked. Neither man looked apprehensive, and made no attempt to hide the fact that they were admiring the looks of the girl with the short brown hair. The scar on her left jawline did little to detract from her delicate features and wide brown eyes.

She gave her prettiest smile, wiggling the fingers of a hand clad in a black leather glove in greeting. "Hi. Have you seen a dachshund puppy? He ran away just a little bit ago."

The one with the cigarette laughed, stepping forward to blow smoke in the young woman's face, "There are no dogs around here, little girl. Go away."

"No dogs? Good." Her expression went blank, eyes dull as she chopped the cigarette smoker hard enough in the jaw to shatter bone and knock him to the ground.

The remaining man swore, reaching behind his back for the gun stuck in the loop of his belt. Cameron stepped forward and kicked him hard enough in the chest to hurl him against the wall. His head hit brick with a crack, and he slumped to the ground, unmoving.

Cameron squatted down, quickly relieving both men of their pistols, and then checking to see if either were conscious still. She slid one pistol into the rear of her waistband, underneath her denim jacket she wore. The other she kept in her hand. She made a sharp whistling sound as she stood back up.

Sarah crept up from out of the darkness. "They're out?"

"Yes. We should enter now. They know we're here." She pointed at the camera overlooking the porch.

"Do your thing."

Cameron nodded, and then kicked in the front door of the home. The door flew wide open, slamming against the wall. Pictures rattled and fell from their perches. The terminator stepped through the door and was greeted by gunfire from within. Her body jerked side to side as several rounds found their mark center mass.

She advanced further into the room, with Sarah pausing to take cover at the doorframe. There were two men inside the house, using pistols, that Sarah could see. Both men were reloading as Cameron raised her own pistol, facial expression empty as she did so.

"Try to capture them. Alive," Sarah cautioned.

Cameron fired twice, pivoted, then fired twice again. Both men crumpled to the ground, screaming as they clutched at their knees. "They'll live." She moved deeper into the living area of the house, scanning as her head turned from side to side.

Sarah stepped into the house, kicking aside the weapon of each man in turn. She pointed her pistol at the head of one of the guards. "Where's Sarkissian?"

The man, face contorted in pain, pointed. "Back bedroom."

"Anyone else in the house besides him?"

"No."

The sound of a shotgun firing came from the living area. Sarah ducked low to the ground, instincts taking hold, before she looked to see a huge hole blown through the sheetrock of one wall, and Cameron holding another bodyguard by the throat with one hand, the other forcing him to keep a pump shotgun pointed at the ground.

Cameron slammed the guard against the wall. Hard enough to leave an indentation. He slumped to the ground, unconscious. The terminator took the shotgun from the guard, then searched his pockets for extra shells. As she loaded the weapon, she called back to Sarah, "Where is Sarkissian?"

"Back bedroom." Sarah stood back up, then kicked the guard who had been speaking in the face. "That's for lying. Try again. Is there anyone left in this house?"

He spit out a tooth. "His daughter. Tasha."

Sarah gathered the pistols of the two guards, sliding one into each pocket of her jacket, and then left the two men bleeding on the floor as she moved to follow Cameron into the back area of the house. She turned down a hallway that appeared to lead to the bedrooms.

Cameron stood in front of one of the doors, having obviously kicked it in. She held the shotgun up at someone in the room, but said and did nothing. Sarah came up beside the terminator and looked into the room to see a young, brunette girl huddled in the corner.

Sarah recognized the child immediately. Her voice was a low hiss as she shoved the terminator's weapon towards the floor, "Put the gun down." Cameron complied as Sarah moved into the room and knelt down in front of the girl who she had last seen at the internet café. "Where's your daddy, Tasha?"

The loud crashing noise from the other side of the house answered Sarah's question.

* * *

"And once again, we're stuck out in the car," said John.

Derek Reese and John Connor had been waiting patiently in the recently acquired Jeep Cherokee that they had chosen for the evening's work. Derek chuckled when John spoke. "Well, I'm not your mom's favorite person right now."

"And it wouldn't do for me to get into any trouble."

"Right. So, what did you two fight about?"

Derek raised a brow. "What made you think we fought?"

"I know my mom, and I know how she treats people after she goes a few rounds with them, and you were getting it double all night last night."

"Ugh. Well, about a lot of crap. Andy Goode. My brother."

"Finally told her you know, huh?" He waited until he saw his uncle's nod. "Well, I guess I can officially call you 'Uncle Derek' now." John's attention turned to the house and he watched as Cameron walked to the door of the home, disabled the guards, and then both Sarah and Cameron entered.

Derek pointed a finger at him. "Don't you even start…wait…" He sat up straight in his seat. "Gunshots?"

"Yeah. I heard them, too. You don't think that mom's…?"

Derek started the Jeep up. "If your mom was hurt, the machine would come out with her. We may have to get out of here fast, though."

John buckled his seatbelt on just in time to see the door to the garage of Sarkissian's home explode as a black Mercedes sedan surged out towards the street. "He's running!"

"Hold on!" Derek's voice rose to a yell as he put the Jeep in gear and punched the gas. He angled the Jeep towards the Mercedes, accelerating quickly. He saw Sarkissian in the driver's seat, and the look of horror at the Cherokee barreling towards him.

The Mercedes tried to swerve into the neighbor's yard to avoid the Jeep, but found itself trapped between the oncoming Jeep and a telephone pole at the edge of the property. The sound of metal screaming and glass shattering accompanied the Jeep slamming into the side of the Mercedes, pinning it against the wooden pole.

Derek pushed his door open, and then slid out from behind his deflating airbag. He wiped one coat sleeve across his blooded mouth and nose as he pulled his pistol from behind his back. "Get out of the car, you son of a bitch."

John staggered out of the Jeep. He rubbed at the shoulder where the seatbelt strap had bit in. He swore loudly, then shook his head to clear it of the effects of the impact. With the Mercedes out of commission, he positioned himself opposite of where Derek was moving, in case Sarkissian made a break for it.

Derek circled the vehicle, then pulled open the rear door behind the driver's seat due to the pole pinning the driver's door shut. Derek dragged the near unconscious Sarkissian over his seat and out through the door, prompting first screams of protest, then pain. He hauled Sarkissian to his feet, and then pressed the pistol to his head. "Let's move."

Sarah and Cameron stood on the porch, a little girl holding Sarah's hand as they watched. The girl tried to pull away and began to scream. "Daddy! Daddy!"

Sarah knelt down next to the girl, still keeping a grip on her hand. "We're not going to hurt your father, Tasha, but you need to run to the neighbor's house and stay there. Don't go anywhere else."

"D-do as the lady says, baby girl." Sarkissian said as Derek brought them closer.

Tasha sniffed loudly, eyes welling up with tears, and then nodded. "Yes, papa." She pulled away from Sarah and started running towards the nearest house with lights in the windows.

"Th-thank you for not involving my daughter."

Sarah slapped Sarkissian. Hard. "You would have left her here for anyone. You're a bastard."

Sarkissian spit blood, but said nothing as he stared at the ground.

* * *

"Well, they're nothing if not dramatic." Ellison said to himself.

Ellison watched events unfold through a set of field binoculars. He had found a hidden spot in the bushes of a home whose family appeared to be on vacation. The all day wait had left him with a few cramped muscles and numerous scrapes and scratches from the shrubbery.

Ellison's guess was right, and the Connors were at the home of Margos Sarkissian. Ellison had not been sure whether he was friend or foe to them, but the events of the evening had answered that for him very clearly.

He watched Sarkissian be dragged back into the house after an aborted escape attempt. He was with all four Connor suspects. Ellison found his thoughts drifting back to Miles Dyson. _They could kill him just like Dyson. You can't let that happen, James._

He stood and started walking rapidly towards the house the Connors had gone in to. He checked the .38 snub nosed revolver that usually served as his backup weapon. Six shots and one reload. _This is crazy, James. You are one man._

He snuck up to the shattered garage door, stepping over shredded aluminum and debris. "Like Daniel in the lion's den, James. Be calm, keep faith, and don't be stupid… well, stupider."

Ellison set his binoculars down on a table in the garage, then held his gun up at the ready as he approached the door that led from the Garage to the house. He took a deep breath, then pushed open the door to the utility room. Taking his gun into both hands, he advanced behind the raised weapon into the kitchen, and then into the dining room, which had sliding doors that opened up into the living room.

Sarah and Cameron stood over Sarkissian, who was now seated on his own couch, and John Connor working on a laptop that sat in a desk in the back of the living room. Two men sat against a wall, knees bandaged, with a third who was apparently unconscious.

Ellison pressed himself up against the edge of the doorframe that lead into the living room. Using his strongest voice, he said, "Sarah Connor. This is the FBI."

Cameron and Sarah both trained weapons on Ellison as they turned their backs on Sarkissian. Ellison stared at the barrels of the shotgun and pistol that were now held on him.

"Agent James Ellison," said the man Ellison now knew as Derek. "It's been a while."

Derek stepped up towards Ellison from the side, back against the wall, and pressed a pistol to Ellison's temple. Ellison slowly lowered his weapon. "I just want to talk."

"Finish questioning Sarkissian," Sarah said to Cameron.

"I will." She dragged Sarkissian to a spot near his men and began speaking quietly to him.

Sarah walked towards where Ellison stood. She shoved her pistol into Ellison's face, "You want to talk, talk fast, otherwise I'll reconsider what I did in Arrowhead for you."

Ellison swallowed, sweat beginning to trickle down his brow. He managed to keep his tone even as he spoke. "I need to talk to you, Sarah. About the things that are happening now and the things to come."

The gun in Ellison's face lowered, "And just how many men are outside waiting to arrest us?'

He shook his head. "None. I'm not even supposed to be here. I can't walk away from this, Miss Connor. I watched one of those monsters murder fourteen men and women I consider friends and colleagues. I watched it gun them down even while they were helpless against it, and it let me live for God only knows what reason."

Sarah pushed the gun back into her belt. "I'm not here to validate your beliefs, agent. You know every answer you want already since you've read my files. Since you've seen the hand."

"I can't sit back and watch the signs creep up on the world. I have to try to stop it."

"All you're going to do is get yourself killed. Let us do what we need to do. Just in case we fail, stay away from any city on April twenty-first, two-thousand eleven."

Ellison's features hardened. "There's one more thing, Sarah."

She sneered at him. "What's that?"

"Dyson. I can't let something like that happen again." Ellison pointed towards where Sarkissian sat.

Derek pressed his gun against Ellison's temple harder. "Some people just need killing, Ellison. Are you sure you're not one of them?"

"Derek!" She watched Derek until he lowered the gun. "Ellison, I did not kill Miles Dyson. It didn't happen the way they say it did. He was a hero. He tried to stop it."

Ellison considered Sarah's words, examining her expression as she spoke. He slid his revolver back into the holster on his hip. "I expected to hear some justification for his death, maybe even an excuse. You really believe that, don't you?"

Sarah nodded, but before she could respond Derek held up a hand to interrupt. "Do you hear that?"

The sound of rubber screeching across pavement and rock heralded a concussive force that ripped through the front of the house. A heavy black muscle car plowed through the front wall, tearing apart supports, crushing furniture, and sent debris cannoning forward throughout the living room. The walls and ceiling collapsed in sections around the living room as everyone inside was sent spinning, toppling, and tumbling to the ground.

The car's front end was crushed, fluids leaking out of it like lifeblood from a wound. Fire blossomed to life from the shredded undercarriage of the vehicle. The spider-webbed cracking of the windshield distorted the driver of the vehicle, giving them the appearance of a grotesque.

The driver's door was kicked open by a heavy leather boot, one hand then using the door frame as leverage to pull itself up and out. The machine known as Cromartie stood next to the battered car, an M-16 rifle held in his off hand. Its head swiveled side to side as it scanned the room, eyes glowing an eerie red from the reflection of the flames.

"I'm back."


	5. Chapter 5

**Title:** Paradigm Shift, Chapter 5

**Author:** C. Isaac

**Character/Pairing:** Various ensemble (Ellison, Dixon, Derek, Sarah, John, and Cameron all included.)

**Rating:** T for Teen

**Warnings:** This mentions events all the way through 1x09 "What He Beheld"

**Summary:** This is about the events immediately transpiring from the end of the season finale, and how I think they could possibly continue.

**Disclaimer:** I do not own anything involved with Terminator or the Sarah Connor Chronicles. All rights belong to their respective owners, and I am making no profit from this.

**Author Notes: **I think this is the absolute hardest of all the chapters to write of the five. The combat went through several iterations before I was satisfied with it. I had to utterly delete and rewrite the final scene as it did not work in the original version at all. I hope everyone enjoys this and it feels good to get the conclusion posted.

**Paradigm Shift, Chapter 5**

**Field Enhancement: **ON** Magnify: **VAR** Wavelength: **300-1000

**Facial Recognition Program Active.**

The machine appraised the room through its HUD and analyzed the tactical situation within moments. Targets assigned priority and tracked. A target in the back of the room dove for cover, but not before a snapshot of the target's face was processed.

**Confirmed: **John Connor

**Primary Mission: **Terminate John Connor

**TARGET ACQUIRED. PROCEED TO PRIMARY MISSION OBJECTIVE.**

It allowed itself a smile as it stepped over the corpses of the men it had crushed with its vehicle on entry, then around the wreckage of the car.

* * *

James Ellison tried to breathe, but found himself hacking and coughing as he sucked in a lung full of powdered brick and sheetrock. Crawling forward, he reached the shattered doorframe that lead into what was once the living room. His throat tightened as he saw the machine, Kester, stalking forward with an M-16 wielded in one hand.

_Demons walk among us with our faces, and come to banish all hope._ The thought came unbidden and unwanted to Ellison. Tears welled in his eyes as understanding dawned.

Single minded in purpose and mission, the machine fired the assault rifle at the couch that John Connor had selected as cover. Bullets tore and sheared their way through the overturned couch, stuffing exploding outwards in odd yellow tufts. John huddled behind it, yelling out to his mother as she struggled to free herself from a collapsed ceiling beam.

Another gun roared to life as the machine's gunfire was answered. Derek staggered to his feet, firing his weapon as he rose. Each bullet hit true, thumping into the machine with a solid sound. The machine staggered back one step, then two. It swiveled towards Derek, giving John a chance. Derek yelled, "Run, John! Run!"

Sarah waved towards the back of the house as she tried to push herself free. "Go!"

John appeared from behind the mangled couch, moving in a crouch towards the bedroom. The machine's free hand pulled a large pistol from underneath its jacket. The gun tracked John's movement, a finger tightening on the trigger.

_Lord above, grant me strength. _Every muscle and sinew protested as Ellison pushed himself up into a crouch. Only a small span separated himself from the machine, so close that he could smell the sweat and gun oil. He lunged forward, shoulder impacting into the side of the machine's knee.

Pain sprang to bone shattering life, following a path from Ellison's shoulder down through his body. He wrapped his arms around the machine's leg, fighting through the pain, and tried to pull it down. Fingers dug into black denim and pulled, fighting against the demonic strength of the machine.

The machine fired both weapons, aim thrown off by Ellison. A single shot impacted just over John's head, cratering the wall behind him. The burst of the assault rifle clipped Derek's shoulder and sent him spinning as blood fountained out of the wound.

"Derek!" Sarah pulled herself free of the debris. She scrambled to Derek's side. They struggled together to get them both behind the cover of the couch. He clutched at his shoulder, a widening bloodstain turning his sleeve red.

The machine's face contorted into a scowl as it kicked Ellison in the ribs, its prey having escaped out of sight. He felt himself lifted free from the ground and flung across the room. He impacted against the stone of the fireplace and slumped to the ground. Pain sent his vision spinning, as he felt his head hit brick.

The machine trained its rifle on Ellison, death in its eyes. Ellison's voice was a whisper. "Lord, protect Your children…"

Shotgun blasts hit the machine with a sledgehammer blows. Skin and sparks exploded outwards. Again and again, the machine was hammered, tearing its false skin off of it in massive chunks. It staggered back under the assault, assault rifle lost from its grip.

Cameron stepped out of the collapsed wall section that she had been thrown into. She pumped the shotgun once more, but received only a clicking sound when she tried to fire, ammo spent. Tossing it aside, she strode quickly towards the metal monster.

Ellison tried to pull himself up, strength fleeing from him as his fingers scrabbled over the fireplace. Vision blurred as he watched Cameron. _She was sent to protect… _Dixon had said.

The machine straightened to meet Cameron's advance, its true face revealed. Chrome, teeth, and red eyes combined into a lurid mockery of a human skull. It fired twice with its own pistol. The bullets impacted wide of target, plowing further holes into the walls of the shattered home.

Derek and Sarah both fired from behind cover, bullets impacting with little effect into the chest and head of the machine. It ignored them both as it took aim at Cameron again.

Cameron kicked the machine's weapon, the gun spinning out of its hand. Powerful fists smashed into the machine, sending it backwards against the car.

It grabbed onto Cameron, lifting her up in the air to its full arm length before twisting and smashing her down onto the hood of the car. Flames jetted out from under the hood and undercarriage as the hood and engine collapsed under the force of the impact.

Cameron pulled up her legs, planted her feet on the machine's chest, and then shoved it backwards. It staggered and fell. She kicked herself back up to her feet in front of the car, the burning wreck haloing her form in light.

_God's angel, sent to protect. _Ellison's thoughts grew more ephemeral, flittering about in his head where he could not grasp them.

* * *

John's feet pounded across the pavement as he fled down the street in a dead sprint. The words of his mother's training played through his head over and over. _You run, John. _

His pace slowed, then stopped. _Mom. Derek. And Cameron. _He decided to figure out how much he worried about each one of them later. Turning, he ran back towards where the Jeep was still pressed against Sarkissian's Mercedes.

John popped open the back door of the Cherokee, then rummaged through the array of gear that Derek had decided to bring with them. In the bag, he found what he was looking for – the stun gun that Cameron had appropriated from a motorcycle cop's gear. He checked to make sure it was fully charged, and then flicked off the safety.

He took only a single step towards the house before pausing, then grabbing the toolbox as well. If they disabled Cromartie, the toolbox would be required to get the chip out of its head. He jogged to the house, slowing as he reached the front porch.

_Please, let this work. And please, let my hands stop shaking, _he thought. He reached the porch, then had to hold back a wave of nausea as he saw what the car had done to the two men that had been left there. _It wasn't Cameron, John. It was all Cromartie._

He set the toolbox down, then stepped over the two corpses. He brought the stun gun up and held it with both hands to keep his aim steady. Cameron laid on the ground and Cromartie loomed over her, a piece of bumper held in its hands as a weapon.

John felt his breath catch in his chest at the scene. Without regard to his own safety, he called out. "Hey! Metalhead!"

Cromartie turned at the sound of John's voice, red eyes flaring with menace. Its voice was a metallic whine. "John Connor!"

Sarah screamed in panic from within the house. "John! What are you doing?!"

John fired the stun gun, probes catching in the ragged flesh of Cromartie's chest. "A hundred and twenty seconds to reboot, you son of a bitch." He pressed the second trigger to release the charge down the wire.

One of the machine's arms jerked as the electrical surge caused motors to fire unexpectedly. Fingers twitched and sparks arced between visible metal struts. It grasped the leads and ripped them from its chest and tossed them aside. Twitching one last time, it advanced on John.

_Ok, John, what's plan B? _John glanced side to side in desperation. He backpedaled, heel hitting a piece of debris, and he stumbled backwards. John fell, grunting as he landed. The stungun clattered away from his grasp.

Cromartie reached forward towards John as he tried to crawl away. Its attention solely focused on its target, Cameron slammed the bumper of the car into the back of Cromartie's knees. Both knees buckled as it dropped down to the ground onto all fours.

Cameron grappled it from behind, hooking her fingers under the other terminator's jawline. She put one knee into Cromartie's back as she pulled upwards on the skull. Popping sounds came from the machine's neck, scavenged steel bolts failing where coltan alloy might have held.

Cameron wrenched the head free from Cromartie's body, then tossed it out towards the porch. "Get the chip out!" She pressed down on the terminator's body, pinning arms and legs.

John scrambled for the head. The thing smelt of burnt bacon and was covered in gobbets of flesh, blood, and hair. He could see part of a human eye still dangling from its own cybernetic ones.

His uncle was at his side, he realized. "Derek, get me a flat head screwdriver from the toolbox." He saw his mother, pistol drawn, covering Cameron as she struggled with the body.

The eyes glared at him, menace no less than before, even without a body attached. The voicebox still worked. "John Connor. Skynet's victory is inevitable."

"Yeah? Well, you won't be around when it happens." Derek said as he rummaged through the toolbox for the screwdriver with one hand, the other in a makeshift sling. He found the tool and handed it to John.

"Hurry up," said Sarah as she eyed Cameron's struggle nervously.

John knelt on the ground, Cromartie's head placed next to him, and then he unscrewed the protective covering to the CPU housing. With the screw out, John used the flat edge of the screwdriver to pop the cover open, a gasp of air signaling the vacuum was breached.

"Pliers."

Derek already had them ready, and handed them to John. John grabbed hold of the shock damper with the pliers. "Guess what? You're terminated." He twisted, then pulled the CPU free.

The lights of Cromartie's eyes faded and died. His body ceased to struggle. For a long moment, the only sound was the crackle of the burning car.

"Time to finish this," John said as he placed Cromartie's chip on the concrete of the porch, and then took the skull and slammed it down on the chip. Over and over, he smashed the coltan alloy skull down until the fragile chip had been reduced to shattered silica and gold relays.

Derek had a satisfied look on his face as he watched, nodding when it was done. "Good. That's the right instinct."

John grinned at Derek, then found himself looking up at Cameron. Her head was tilted as she regarded the two men, expression narrowed as she watched. She met John's gaze. John swallowed, wanting to say something, but could only avert his eyes back towards the ground, exuberance fading.

"I will secure transportation before the police arrive," said Cameron. She started walking towards a Ford Explorer that was parked a couple of houses down the street at the curb.

Derek rubbed his chin with his good hand. "What about Ellison?"

"Get him out of there. Take him to a hospital," said John.

"He'll be a liability."

"He helped in there, Derek," Sarah said as she stepped back into the house.

Derek shrugged with his good shoulder, conceding the point. "All right."

John followed Sarah into the house, hurrying to where Ellison lay against the fireplace. Blood streamed down Ellison's face, one arm hanging at an odd angle from his shoulder.

"Ellison?" Sarah touched his shoulder.

A groan of pain answered her.

"We have to get him out of here, the flames are spreading." John said as he pulled Ellison's good arm up and around his own shoulders.

Sarah nodded agreement, then warned Ellison, "This is going to hurt a lot." She grabbed the twisted arm and pulled him up to his feet. He screamed in pain as they dragged him out of the house.

They hurried, stepping around where Sarkissian and his men had been sitting. A support beam lay buried squarely in Sarkissian's midsection, and his unblinking, empty eyes stared at the ceiling. The others lay crushed and burning under the remains of Cromartie's car.

Once on the lawn, they laid Ellison out on the grass, his screams fading back to groans. Ellison mumbled to himself as they waited for Cameron.

John leaned in, trying to hear what was said.

"…aise the Lord, you His angels, you mighty ones who do His bidding, who obey His word. Praise the Lord, all His heavenly hosts, you His servants who do His will…"

* * *

The machine lay motionless in the mound of powdered thermite. Cinderblocks had been stacked neatly around it to prevent any spillover from what must be done. Cameron struck a flare and tossed it in with the machine, starting the fire that would devour the monster.

"Cromartie's dead," said John as he and Sarah watched the destruction of the machine. Derek had excused himself to nurse his injured shoulder.

Cameron nodded. "Yes."

Sarah allowed herself a smile as she held out the remains of Cromartie's chip, then threw them into the building flames. "And with Sarkissian dead, we're back home again."

John felt Sarah's arms around him, hugging him protectively. "Home. Feels good to say that."

"There is still the matter of what I learned from Sarkissian."

Sarah released John. "Well, Tin Miss, what were you able to get out of him?"

"The Turk was sold, and was not in the house. A man named Gerald Metzger purchased it from him. He didn't know why Metzger wanted it."

"So, we're still chasing this thing?" John shook his head in disbelief.

"So it seems. I was not able to gather further information due to the intervention of Cromartie."

Sarah wiped at her brow. "I'm going into the house where there are no thermite fires." She left the garage through the back door.

"You should go inside, John. It's not safe here."

John watched the terminator burn, feeling the sting of the heat on his skin, eyes watering from it. "When you see one of these die, do you… feel… anything? Think anything?"

Cameron tilted her head as she regarded John. "I wrote a note. For Vick."

"Why?"

"I did not know how to deal with it."

"With what?"

"That they can not be more than what they are."

* * *

Consciousness began to return, blinding and painful and white. Ellison brought his hands up to cover his face, trying to will it away, but the world would not be denied and forces itself upon him as he felt his faculties reassert themselves.

He brought his hands down and looked around his hospital room, the vague memory of being there for several days returning. An IV stood to one side, wires hooking into his arm from it. His left shoulder and arm were wrapped in a plaster cast, and he could feel bandages wrapped around his midsection.

A pleasantly dumpy nurse leaned into his field of vision. "Oh, Mister James, you're awake. There is someone to see you here today. I'll tell him you're up."

Ellison grunted, then closed his eyes as he tried to find sleep once more.

"Jim! Hey, my man!" The voice was far more exuberant than Ellison wanted to hear.

He opened his eyes to see Agent Stewart standing over his bed. Stewart smiled broadly at him. "I heard about your accident or whatever it was, Jim. I wanted to come down and see if you were ok. I mean, you've had some rough luck this last week."

"James."

"What?"

"My name is James, not Jim. And I'm not 'your man.' What do you want, Agent Stewart?"

Stewart's smile faltered briefly, then returned. "The bureau just wants to know what's happening. How you ended up dumped at an emergency room. How a guy you've been talking to your CIs about gets dead and his house burned down."

Ellison met Stewart's gaze, memories of the night at Sarkissian's home replaying themselves over and over in his head. _You're about to lie to the FBI, James, _he thought. "I fell down a flight of stairs."

"Yeah, sure. Something's going on here, and the Supervisor's pissed. Give me something to go on, and I'm sure we can help you out. Listen, the people that dropped you here, at least one of them matches the description of Sarah Connor. You don't remember that at all?"

Ellison closed his eyes as he answered. _This is more important than my career or even my freedom._ "Sarah Connor's dead, Agent Stewart. She's been dead for eight years."

Stewart tapped his fingers along the railing of Ellison's bed. "This isn't looking good for you, Jim. You've lost a whole caseload full of evidence, and if you get tied to the Sarkissian crime scene, this'll end up badly."

"I tripped down some steps, Agent Stewart. There's nothing left to say."

Stewart scowled. "This isn't over."

Ellison opened his eyes and watched the younger agent leave. _You're right, Agent Stewart, this isn't over. Things are just beginning._


	6. Epilogue

**Paradigm Shift, Epilogue**

Men worked at loading boxes into the back of an unmarked, white van. The activity took place late in the night, the lights of flood lamps illuminating their work. Two men watched the progress of the labor.

"Looks like we're almost done here," said the first, an aging, overweight man with a bald pate in a rumpled suit.

"Yes. You have been most accommodating, Mr. Finch," said the second, a younger, stockily built man with black hair slicked back, square features, and clear blue eyes. He wore a blue windbreaker.

"What do you want with all this anyways, Metzger?"

"That is not important to this transaction."

Finch smirked. "Guess it doesn't matter. This stuff was just going to rot in storage, anyways."

Metzger watched as the last box was loaded into the van. The word 'A.R.T.I.E.' was clearly visible before the van's doors were shut. "It is unfortunate Barbara Chamberlain's initiative was unsuccessful."

"Yeah. If she hadn't vanished, she might have put it back together. Oh well, Humpty Dumpty and all that you know what."

Metzger's head tilted. "No, I don't know what. You are sure that our transaction will remain private?"

Finch nodded several times. "Positive. They won't inventory it again for at least a year, if not longer. Only myself and my men here know this has happened. Now, as for payment, Mr. Metzger, I'll take that now."

"Yes, of course. Thank you for your cooperation, Mr. Finch." Metzger reached into his windbreaker and pulled a pistol out.

Finch's expression turned to horror. "We had a --!" Multiple gunshots rang out, ending the lives of Richard Finch and his men.

Metzger slid his pistol back into his windbreaker, then strode to the driver's door of the van and pulled himself into the vehicle. He turned to a passenger that had been sitting in the vehicle. "All witnesses have been terminated."

"Excellent work. The mission is nearly complete." said the passenger with a smile. She patted a red backpack that lay in her lap, fingers lingering over it with seeming affection.

The van's engine rumbled to life as Metzger started it, then pulled it out onto a back street in downtown Los Angeles. He was silent and impassive as he drove the vehicle.

The gaze of Cameron Phillips went back down to the bag in her lap, expression showing apparent adoration. She made a soft, cooing sound. "Don't worry, baby. Mama will keep you safe from anyone who would harm you."


End file.
